What is the view from the Hive?

Being a literal bean I explain the view from the Hive.  The largest window faces almost due South and the smallest looks Westward.  Using my 'happy' eyes this is what I see late afternoon through the West facing window:  A Eucalyptus tree now standing around 25 feet tall.  Ten years ago  it was one foot high and lived in a black bucket.  It's rather odd really because this is a tree that has come home so to speak.  A neighbour of my father's was a keen gardener and some 12 or so years ago gave me the sapling she had raised from seed.  Potted on, it made it's way back down South with me and I could not quite decide where to plant it in my little garden in Hertfordshire so it was set into a black bucket and despite me, it survived. 

When I returned to Lincolnshire 10 years ago, the second thing I did when I moved into the cottage was to plot and plan where to place the plants I had repatriated from my Hertfordshire garden.  The Eucalyptus tree was beginning to look very sorry for itself and there was barely any base to the bucket left.  I set the tree too close to the washing line and it's first winter in the ground saw it battered by the Northerly winds.  After a tricky winter it defiantly grew at an angle and helps keep, what I call, my wooded area dry.  It has several roles really:  it's survival under extreme pressure is, of course, symbolic particularly bearing in mind the tree has a very shallow root system.  It plays host to the wide range of birds who visit my garden and supports a white perfumed clematis set to mark the death of my father.  The blossom of the tree is unremarkable when looked at singly but when I look at the tree from the upstairs window the tiny, delicate greeney white flowers cover the tree like a veil giving it a slightly unearthly air.  As dusk falls it's oval leaves gradually turn black in the fading light and the tree takes on a menacing magic as night closes in.

I also see a sagging old telephone wire with what looks like a dead plant attached to it.  This was a speriment that didn't quite work. If I had been a physicist I may have been able to predict the failure.  On the corner of my West wall is a wooden arch;  built for me by the Estranged One,  to support an ice cream scented clematis and a scented rose called New Dawn.   My original plot was for the two plants to clamber over the arch, climb up and over the ridge tiles and eventually cover the flat roof of my Hive.  The plants had other ideas and defied me.  Armed with chicken wire, grim determination and sheer bloody mindedness I insisted they would do what I wanted and eventually they have started to comply.  Then I thought, how nice would a clematis curtain be across my garden and trained the Montanna along a disused telephone wire.  It was too successful!  It is a rampant plant, the Montanna, and is clearly very happy where it lives.  The sheer weight of the plant has brought the wire down low which means I have to stoop to get at my wood store and access the rear of the house.  Hmmmmmm  not entirely sure what to do next....

I use plants to mark special people and events in my garden, a sort of memorial if you like.  The West window looks out also on to a white lilac set 9 years ago to mark the birth of my Bestest Boy Ben.  Then there is the deep red Cherry bearing the name of my Pixie Princess, Ruby, set three years ago to mark her birth.   Last year I set (or rather a member of my framily set) a crab apple tree which celebrates my freedom from mental slavery (as Bob Marley would have put it) and I'm sure that a trick cyclist would have fun with the choice.  My overriding thought was to provide Mrs Blackbird with plenty of fruit in the winter: blackbirds so enjoy the crab apple fruit.

From the window in front of me:  the redundant church, which I jealously watch over, looms large and magnificent.  Feng Shuey experts would probably despair of it's placing but it has been here so much longer than the cottage.  Inside my hawthorn hedge, which houses at least one wren, robins and a huge flock of sparrows, there is a weeping beech called a Purple Fountain.  This was a gift from my Beloved Son and Heir for my last birthday and is currently dressed with baubles and angel hair for the benefit of my grandchildren and the season.    The hedge itself supports a very vigorous ivy.  Proper gardeners would rip it all out and refer to it as a parasite.  Me?  I see a green cloak covering the bare twigs of the hawthorn offering shelter for the winged residents in winter.  It also provides nondescript green flowers which turn into the blackest and shiniest berries providing another valuable resource for the birds. 

And there is the front gate which squeaks when it is opened.  It too is dressed with Seasonal trimmings and ivy.  I have been training the ivy around the wrought iron as much to hide the dilapidated state of the iron works as to create a living sculpture.  I have never wanted to oil the gate to stop it squeaking because it acts as an alarm signal for both me and MaddyMoo of the possibility of an intruder.  The gate leads directly to the road and I tend to be paranoid about people leaving it open.  After all I have a chicken with limited road sense, a dog with an over developed sense of welcome and a boy cat who defiantly stands his ground when the vehicles cross his path.  The road links the village to the town 10 miles away to the West and the next village 3 miles away to the East.  It was not built to accommodate either the amount of traffic or the size of the vehicles it now has to support.  Farm vehicles are so wide and heavy now they straddled both the carriages and rock my cottage as they pass by.  Articulated lorries also shake the foundations and I can't help but think there is a fault line stretching diagonally from my cottage to the church across the road. 

People who drive or walk past just cannot help but look into my window and there are some who must think I am nailed to the chair in my Hive!  I resent their interest and tend to leave the blind closed with just a little chink of the window showing which allows me to spot unexpected visitors.  I only want to share my world with people I want to share it with.  Strangers are no longer welcome in the flesh.  I think it has something to do with my now limited ability to defend myself.  There are those in the village who watch over me without me realising.   I am beginning to think I have turned into the village eccentric hiding behind closed drapes and appearing to be quite batty with her herd of animals.  Shortly before Christmas one of the villagers came to deliver a Christmas card.  I watched as she walked through the gate and thought she would simply place it into my post box.  I let her in and sort of apologised for the state of the floor and she said she needed to explain the Christmas Card.  I am afraid I cried.  Apparently there is a Village Fund for people in need and the Trustees decided this year that I should receive some money to assist me over the festive season.  I was stunned and incredibly touched by their kindness.  So, the lesson for me is that not everything or everyone who comes through the front gate brings trouble or worry.  I use the imagery of angels to offer support to others and find I too am watched over by angels.

My only New Year message to everyone is that there really are diamonds in the dirt, you just need to dig a little to find them.  May the angels of hope, peace and love walk with us all and sustain us through trials and tribulations.

Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx